


These Four White Walls

by teal_blue



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Cursing (very little), Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Pandemic (no explicit references to the virus), Quarantine, References to Anxiety and Mood Swings, References to sociology/economy/politics/climate change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teal_blue/pseuds/teal_blue
Summary: That evening, Minho falls asleep while sitting on the couch and, for some reason he cannot explain, Chan stares at his face. Maybe he hopes it can tell him something he is missing. It does not. So he wakes Minho up and tells him to go to bed. When he is alone, he finds out he has a lot to think about.OrChan and Minho are quarantined together and, in the midst of home-made meals, card games and concerns about the future, something starts to grow between them.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 20
Kudos: 93





	These Four White Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I’m back, a little later than planned. This story was born when I was having a pretty rough time during quarantine and it really is just a product of self-indulgence, lol. I’ve tried to use a style of writing I’m not really used to, and I’m not sure I succeeded in my aim, but it’s been really fun! Also, the story slightly touches a lot of topics I really care about, so I hope you’ll enjoy it.  
> I want to thank my cousin, who is the best writing buddy I could ask for (check her stories out here on ao3 @MyMoonMin)  
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and thank you so much for reading, it means a lot ♥

1.

It is a gloomy afternoon when Minho goes back home with four bags full of groceries and announces: “We’re going vegan.”

Chan stares at him from the couch, a questioning look on his face, but Minho is already slotting the things he has bought into the cupboards without sparing him a glance.

“Are we?” he just asks, looking at his computer screen again.

“Yes, we are. If those pigs think we are oblivious to what is going on in the world right now, they’re fucking wrong. And if the only way we can influence them is through our money, we’re not going to pay for that shit ever again. We don’t need fucking bacon, nor fucking cheese. We need forests to stay as they fucking are.”

And he slams the door of the fridge, and Chan hides a smile. He knows Minho is not fond of the choices that several political leaders – or, as he would call them, _those pigs_ – have made, in the last decade or so, with regards to climate change and exploitation of natural resources. He knows that, as a consumer, he has gradually become more conscious of unethical consumption. He knows that the outbreak of the pandemic has radicalized them both even more. He also knows that not eating animal products anymore is only the first of many impulsive decisions Minho is going to make.

“Alright, then. We’re going vegan.”

Minho does not say a thing and just keeps putting away the groceries.

Living with Minho has always been fairly easy. Even if the apartment is small and they have to share the bedroom, they have never had any problems during the year they have been living together. They complete each other well: when they eat together, Minho cooks and Chan washes the dishes. Every Sunday, Minho mops the floor and dusts the furniture, while Chan makes laundry and washes the bathroom. They never argue over anything, nor invade each other’s space, which is usually not hard for them, since their lifestyles are quite different and they often hardly see each other. However, quarantine will surely put their well-established dynamics to the test, Chan thinks. He also thinks that, whatever is going to happen, it will be interesting to witness.

Chan hears Minho wash his hands and then he finally sees him appear in front of him. He sits on the floor, his legs spread apart and his back against the couch, and turns the tv on. He has only been watching the news for some time now, and Chan is not sure it does him any good, but he has never pointed that out.

A lot of cases, a lot of deaths. Chan’s eyes are fixed on his computer screen, but his attention is on the newscaster’s voice. He hears Minho sigh and he just knows he is feeling sad, and he is feeling angry, and he is already pondering over other decisions he can make in order to make a difference.

For now, he just ends up cursing at the tv when one of _those pigs_ appears on the screen. Chan laughs, but his laughter falters soon. He looks at the images restlessly changing on the tv screen, their only window on a new world of confined human beings, invisible threats and uncanny events, and cannot help but feel uneasy.

2.

They have too much time on their hands and a lot of boredom to deal with.

Even if they are stuck at home, Chan is working a lot. Minho tries to but gets carried away by his short temper. He gets distracted too easily, and he is continuously in search of something that can help him get his mind off his own thoughts. They both try their best not to think about evenings spent with friends, about the blinding lights of the city center and birthday parties, and each of them does it in his own way – Chan works and Minho gets angry. And, in the meantime, boredom bites at their heels, and so does uncertainness, and so does fear, and so does uneasiness.

One day, Chan finds a deck of cards in a drawer. He does not remember ever playing with them, nor who has bought them in the first place. He asks Minho if he wants to play and he accepts, but only on one condition, which is: every time they play, whoever wins is allowed to have a wish granted. Chan agrees to that.

And so, almost without noticing, as if it gradually and naturally becomes a habit, they start playing card games every day, when Chan is not working or when they both feel too bored to even turn the tv on.

When Chan wins, he usually asks Minho to make his bed as well or to help him wash the dishes after dinner. Minho, on his part, is far more creative. The first time he wins, he tells Chan he has to speak without using vowels for the rest of the day. The second time, he asks him to read his book out loud for him, because he wants to know how the chapter ends, but feels too lazy to read it with his own eyes. The third time he just convinces him to make a prank call to one of their mutual friends, and lets out a big laugh when she understands Chan is pulling a prank on her and gets angry at him.

One night, Minho wins again and asks Chan to show him one of the notebooks where he writes his poems. While he asks it, the tone of his voice betrays a hint of shyness, but Chan is too surprised by the request to notice it.

“What do you…” Chan begins, and Minho just shrugs.

“I saw you writing in one notebook, one day, and the pages seemed to be filled with verses. I noticed you keep it with a bunch of other notebooks on the top shelf of our bookcase.”

Chan looks at Minho lengthily without saying a thing, still surprised, and then he stands up and heads to their room. He comes back with the notebook Minho was talking about in one hand, and his laptop in his other hand.

“They’re not poems,” he says as he sits on his chair again and turns his laptop on. “They’re songs. I had also rented a small studio to record them, a couple of months before quarantine began.”

“You really aren’t that lucky, are you?”

Chan just laughs. Minho comes closer as Chan beckons him to and lends him an earphone. They listen in silence and Chan glances at Minho’s face as he opens the notebook and leafs through its pages.

“Do you post these songs somewhere?” Minho asks when Chan stops the music.

“No. Not yet, at least.”

“Well, you should,” Minho just says, and Chan takes his words as a very needed compliment.

They talk a little bit more, about music and the importance of expressing oneself, and Chan feels oddly understood, in a way that is not intrusive, nor unsettling. Minho seems so interested, and yet so casual about the things Chan is telling him, that the ideas that felt so impractical until not long before, suddenly look easy to be put into practice.

Minho goes to bed soon after and, despite being left alone, Chan feels like he now has a new perspective bound to never leave his side.

3.

Grocery shopping has become rather confusing since the day Minho has decided they were going vegan. Being the one who cooks most of the time, and the one who has made the decision for them both, he has a better, clearer understanding of the things to buy, and how to buy them without spending the whole afternoon in the supermarket. However, when it is Chan’s turn to go grocery shopping, Minho provides him with hyper-detailed shopping lists, in which he specifies which brands or products he has to avoid altogether, and that makes things easier.

When he goes back home, Minho is not in sight. Chan knows he is in the bedroom: he can clearly hear his movements while he is putting the groceries away. Once he is done, he goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and then, on his way back to the open-plan room, he stops on the bedroom door. Startled, he looks at the scene before his eyes.

Minho is sitting on the floor, cross-legged in front of one of their dressers. His arms are busy rummaging in one of the drawers and, all around him, clothes are scattered on the floor. He seems livid. Chan looks at the pile of clothes closer to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Sorting out my clothes,” Minho says, barely glancing at him. “To donate them. There’s a clothing bank in the next block, am I right?”

Chan nods. He does not move from the doorway and he just watches Minho fish a sweater out of the drawer, look at it angrily and then throw it furiously toward the pile of clothes at Chan’s feet. Chan looks at the sweater and then looks at Minho again.

“I don’t need all of these clothes. I don’t even know why I bought half of these things in the first place, what the fuck was I even thinking? Next time I try to buy something, remind me of textile waste and how unethical the fashion industry is, please.”

Chan sighs. That’s just how Minho has been acting out his anger since the beginning of quarantine: one day he is shouting at the tv, and the next day he is shouting at himself. Chan does not know if his anger is going to go away soon, and he does not know what will replace it once it will be gone. For now, he is grateful Minho has never vented it on him – but, somehow, he just knows he would never do it.

He knows of friends who are quarantined together and are having a hard time, arguing over nothing daily, falling out over chores and lack of personal space. Instead, they are doing a good job splitting chores, as they always have, and neither of them seems to be minding having to spend too much time with the other. Chan has noticed that, without really being conscious of it, they end up sitting next to each other for hours at a time. He often keeps Minho company while he is cooking, and Minho often keeps him company while he washes the dishes. They watch the news together and, before going to bed, they eat late-night snacks while commenting on the news or talking about whatever comes to their mind. Those are the times in which Minho seems more relaxed, less angry, and Chan finds himself truly enjoying them.

He eventually enters the bedroom and drops on his knees in front of the other dresser. Minho glances at him as he opens one of the drawers.

“I’m sure there’s something I don’t need either. Let’s get everything ready for the next time one of us goes grocery shopping, ok? The clothing bank is on the way to the supermarket.”

Minho stares at Chan. He is giving him an encouraging smile and he cannot help but smile back, anger suddenly forgotten.

Clothes are thrown towards the piles already lying on the floor, and Chan can just tell Minho is feeling his heart getting lighter.

4.

When Chan wakes up, it is rather early and Minho’s bed is already empty.

Chan can hear his frantic steps outside the door as he tosses and turns in his bed, still too sleepy to bring himself to get up, sit on the chair and start working. The days repeating themselves over and over again – waking up, washing up, working, eating, working, watching the news, eating, working, going to bed again – are starting to take a toll on his mind, and he just feels like getting out of bed is becoming a little bit hard as the days go by. But he just does it, because he has to, and because that is just the way he is, and he works until he is so exhausted he cannot think about anything else anymore.

He throws his feet over the bed and, as he hears Minho’s movements once again, he finds himself thinking that, at least, he has his company to look forward to every day. He has Minho’s angry comments to listen to while they watch the news, their chats over the lunches and dinners Minho diligently cooks every day, their card games and Minho’s whimsical requests to fulfill when he wins.

He goes out of the room telling himself that, after all, he really has a lot to look forward to today as well.

As he steps in the bathroom, he sees Minho frantically cleaning the shower. He gives Chan a quick look, but does not stop rinsing the panel.

“Why are you cleaning? We cleaned everything two days ago.”

“I know, but I can’t sleep. I need to do something.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“I don’t know. Too much energy. Feeling a bit angry.”

“At what?”

“At everything, I guess.”

Chan understands. He just nods and Minho leaves him alone in the bathroom. He takes a shower and thinks about nothing in particular. When he goes to the open-plan room, Minho is wiping down the kitchen cupboards. Chan just sits at his usual seat and does not tell him a thing, because he knows it is better off that way.

The day goes by slowly and Minho cooks and does not let Chan wash the dishes. He dusts their bedroom furniture and mops the floors. It seems like he cannot help but move and keep his hands busy, and it looks like not giving his body any break is doing his mind good.

Late in the evening, Minho looks exhausted, and Chan tells him it is better if he stops. He agrees: tiredness has finally taken over and, maybe, Chan’s words really do make inroads into Minho’s stubbornness. They play cards and Chan’s moves seem too suspicious, and Minho wins too soon and too easily.

“You let me win on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Of course not,” Chan says, even though he actually did. It seems like Minho knows it as well, but he does not say a thing. He just looks at Chan with his tired eyes, and Chan does his best not to seem worried. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Can we just watch the news together? I don’t feel particularly creative, today.”

“Of course we can. Sit down and turn the tv on, I’ll grab some snacks.”

They watch the news and Minho is far less talkative than usual. He eats whatever Chan puts in his hands, and he does it until he cannot keep his eyes open anymore. As he falls asleep, he rests his head on Chan’s shoulder, and Chan stays still, mindlessly watching the tv, until his arm hurts and he has to wake Minho up and tell him to go to bed.

5.

The day Minho has spent cleaning the whole apartment has somehow helped him tone down his anger.

An emotion far less definite, but still very evident at the same time, has slowly taken its place, making him gradually become less talkative and, at times, less present. Sometimes, when Chan talks to him, he does not answer when he is supposed to, and when he realizes he needs to say something, he says he is sorry and asks Chan to repeat what he has said. He does not get angry at the tv that much anymore, and when Chan lifts his eyes from his computer, he often sees him lying on the couch doing nothing, or moping around the rooms with an absent look on his face.

The house is far more silent, and the days pass by slower. The weather has also become colder, and the sky becomes dark earlier. Because of all the little changes, Chan’s working schedule has changed a bit itself. He starts to get sleepy after lunch almost every day and, when he tries to work while sitting on the couch, he often falls asleep without noticing, and wakes up when it is already dark outside, his laptop still on his legs.

One Thursday evening, he opens his eyes and realizes he has fallen asleep once again. He sees his laptop on the table, its lid closed, and notices, on his body, a blanket he is sure was not there before he fell asleep. He rubs his eyes, still a bit disoriented, and realizes he is not alone when he hears a little noise from his right. As he turns, he sees Minho hunched over the kitchen counter, the movements of his hands not visible, only the light over the stove illuminating his frame. It looks like he is trying not to make any sound.

Chan stands up and goes closer to him, and Minho almost flinches when he sees him on his side. Chan looks at his hands. He is kneading dough.

“Do we have something to celebrate?”

“No, not really,” Minho says, and he averts his eyes. “I just wanted to do something to thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” Chan asks, dumbfounded. His voice is still hoarse.

“For putting up with me, I guess? My mood has been kind of shitty since the beginning of quarantine, and I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to feel sorry about,” Chan mumbles, still a bit startled.

He would like to tell Minho a lot of other things – that he is actually really thankful for his presence, for example, and that his company is something he truly looks forward to every day – but words fail his intentions. So he just stands there and keeps Minho company. They play cards while waiting for the dough to rise and Chan wins, but he tells Minho that, since he is already making pizza, he won’t ask for anything more. He looks at Minho as he tops the pizza with sauce and vegetables and puts it in the oven. Chan asks him if he has done it a lot of times before, and he says he used to make pizza for his friends when he still lived with his parents and they came over.

They eat while sitting on the floor, forgetting to turn on the tv to watch the news. Minho seems a little more present, a little more relaxed, and he tells Chan he really misses his parents and his cats. Chan asks him a lot of questions and lets Minho take his time to answer them. He lets him talk a lot, because he looks like he needs to, and finds himself particularly interested in everything he has to say. He has always been kind of curious about Minho, who rarely opens up and hides parts of his inner self behind his eccentricity, but he had never realized how much he actually wanted to get to know him better until the beginning of quarantine. He now does.

So he asks him questions and he listens to him ramble, and he looks at his eyes sparkle with a joy so subtle, yet so evident, and he tells himself that life, after all, even if spent inside those white walls, is going exactly how it is supposed to.

6.

Being quarantined for so long is making it hard, for Chan, to remember he should take care of his body a little more. Being caught up in weird routines – as well as leaving the bedroom only to go sit at the dining table and work, or not going out with friends anymore – is making it easy, easier than he would like to admit, to forget about doing something more than taking a shower every other day and shaving when he absolutely needs to. Peer pressure, he tells himself at times, influences people in the most different, subtle ways.

He understands he has to do something to his hair when, after taking a shower, long locks cover his eyes almost completely. As he tries to brush them out of his face, he notices the back of his hair has grown too long as well. He tries to think about Minho’s hair, and he suddenly realizes he must have done something to it, in the past weeks, because it looks exactly like it has always looked before quarantine. He is not quite sure why, but he suddenly feels self-conscious. So he wears his clothes, gets out of the bathroom fast and goes straight to the bedroom.

Minho is still lying on his bed, reading a book, just like he was before Chan went to the bathroom to take a shower. He looks at Chan with his brows furrowed as he sees him get closer, his hair wet and a frown on his face.

“Can you trim my hair?”

Minho looks at him without saying a thing. He then closes his book and gets up.

“Grab a chair and bring it in the bathroom.”

Chan does so. He places the chair in front of the sink and sits on it. He looks at his face in the mirror while waiting for Minho to come to him. When he does, he has a comb and hair cutting shears. They seem professional. Chan is genuinely amazed. Minho puts a towel around his shoulders and begins to comb his hair. He places his other hand on Chan’s neck to steady his head. His fingers are cold.

“Do you use conditioner?”

“Not really. When I remember.”

Minho laughs a bit, and Chan does as well. He feels a little embarrassed. He has a lot of knots in his hair, but he can feel Minho trying not to hurt him as he detangles them. He had never really known his touches could be that gentle. He peeks at his reflection in the mirror and his face is impassive. He seems a bit tired, and a bit sad, but it might just be an impression. Chan comes back to giving attention to what is happening to his hair only when he feels the coldness of the steel brush his nape.

“You finally decided to cut it,” Minho comments. The cutting sound is sharp and liberating.

“Why didn’t you tell me I needed to?”

“Thought it was not my place.”

“It is always your place. We’re housemates, and friends. And you’re the only real human contact I’m going to have for god knows how long.”

Minho smiles. It is a small smile but, for some reason, it makes Chan happy. It however falters soon. Strands of hair fall on the floor.

“Do you ever feel like it really is just the two of us? Like everything, or everyone else, doesn’t exist anymore?” Minho asks. His voice sounds uncertain.

“Actually, sometimes I do. I guess being quarantined can alter how we perceive things.”

“It really does. It’s weird, isn’t it? Like, I know that our families, our friends and everyone else is out there, in their houses, and that life is going on even if it doesn’t seem so, but at the same time I feel like everything could really just end beyond our front door. Sometimes, it feels like we are sharing an important secret we can’t tell anybody else. And the weirdest thing is that... it feels nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Chan mumbles, lost in thought. He is trying to decipher Minho’s expression through the mirror, but somehow he can’t.

That evening, Minho falls asleep while sitting on the couch and, for some reason he cannot explain, Chan stares at his face. Maybe he hopes it can tell him something he is missing. It does not. So he wakes Minho up and tells him to go to bed. When he is alone, he finds out he has a lot to think about.

7.

The conversation they had when Minho was trimming Chan’s hair has changed some things in their dynamics: Minho has begun to act a little differently. He has started to keep Chan company every time he is washing dishes, or when he is doing his share of chores on Sundays, and he often sits next to him while he is working. He does not talk, nor bother him in any way. He just stays there in silence, perched on the chair or on the couch like a feline, composed and gracious, territorial without being aggressive about it. Chan, for his part, does not really know how to react to Minho’s sudden need for nearness, but he quickly gets used to it, and just as quickly starts to like his constant presence. Somehow, it makes him feel safe.

The realization that Minho might really be needing to stay close to him hits him when one night, right before dawn, he opens his eyes and finds him curled up next to him. Chan stares at him in the dark, still puzzled, and tells himself he must have crawled in his bed deep in the night. Minho is lying perfectly still, huddled on the duvet, his arms around his waist, his breath regular and peaceful. He looks small, and he looks vulnerable. However in need he must have felt, however lonely, he has been respectful enough to leave space, between him and Chan, for their bodies not to touch. Chan covers him with the duvet, trying his best not to wake him up. He does not, and Minho’s limbs loosen up in the warmth.

Chan does not really know what to do, so he just stays put and listens to Minho breathe. He asks himself how bad his thoughts might have gotten, during the night, for him to overcome his usually well-concealed shyness and crawl in his bed. He thinks about it, and thinks about other million things, and thinks and thinks, his mind hopping from one thought to the other as the minutes pass by and he feels Minho’s body become warmer under the duvet. When he understands he is not going to fall asleep again, he silently gets out of bed, goes to the open-plan room, switches the lamp on and gets to work.

Minho wakes up when the day is broad. Chan sees him emerge from their bedroom with sleep in his eyes, and something like mortification on his face. It seems like he is determined not to say a thing. Then, before reaching for the kitchen counter, he stops walking and turns towards Chan. It seems like he is finding it hard to look at him in the eyes.

“Hey. Sorry… I’m sorry I crawled into your bed, last night.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. Something happened?”

“No, I was just feeling a little bit sad. And a little bit anxious.”

“It’s ok. You can come in my bed whenever you need to.”

Minho seems relieved. He starts moving again, but it looks like he does not really know what to do with himself. Chan looks at him stealthily for the rest of the morning. He is not sure sadness and anxiety are the only reasons that have made Minho feel the urge to crawl in his bed. He knows he misses his family and his cats, but something tells him that this is not the reason either. He waits for him to say something else, but he does not address the topic again. And Chan does not ask: after all, curiosity killed the cat.

He works in silence and, as Minho quietly keeps him company, he catches himself hoping he will find him in his bed again.

8.

It is one of those days in which being quarantined seems to be particularly affecting Minho’s mood.

He acts kind of distant and spends most of the morning in the bedroom, sprawled out on his bed while reading. He makes lunch and eats it in silence, without reacting much to Chan’s attempts at making conversation. As soon as he finishes eating, he puts his plate in the sink and goes back to the bedroom without keeping Chan company as he washes the dishes. He doesn’t watch the news either.

Chan decides to give him space, as he usually does when Minho is in a bad mood. He knows he prefers being left alone. So he washes the dishes and thinks about his work until his thoughts go somewhere else and he starts to think about how confused the pigeons must be feeling, now that they are the only living creatures populating the streets. And then he thinks about Minho again.

After the first night he has crawled into his bed, he has done it another couple of times. Differently from the first time, he has done it without waiting for Chan to fall asleep. He has not hugged him, and Chan has not tried to hug him either because he does not know if Minho wants him to. They have just slept side by side and, each morning, Chan has always woken up alone because Minho is an early bird and gets up as soon as he opens his eyes.

Chan spends the rest of the day working on his computer, and Minho never goes out of their room. In the late afternoon, Chan decides Minho has spent too much time alone. So he goes to the bedroom and asks him if he wants to play cards with him. He agrees and they go sit at the dining table. Minho does not say much while they play, but Chan does not mind. It looks like a lot is going on inside his head, but it does not necessarily mean they need to talk about whatever he is thinking about. Sometimes, Chan believes, it is enough just to be in someone else’s company.

“What do you think about girls?” Minho suddenly asks, and he doesn’t lift his eyes from the cards in his hands when Chan glances at him.

“They’re neat, I guess?”

“Are you attracted to them?”

“Sometimes.”

“What do you find attractive in them?”

“Do you really want me to tell you?” Chan says, getting a little defensive, but Minho shakes his head and laughs. It sounds like a nervous laugh, but Chan is not sure about that.

“And what about boys?”

“I like boys as well,” Chan says after a moment of silence. He thought that Minho already knew all of those things, that he had already understood them over the years. “Why are you suddenly asking these questions?”

Minho just shrugs, and Chan feels confused. So he puts his cards on the table and rests his head on his hand. He stares at the wall behind Minho and tells himself he might as well share a little bit more.

“Girls are just great. I feel like they understand everything better, and I often find myself attracted to their minds. And their bodies are… really beautiful. But I feel more comfortable with boys, and their bodies feel more familiar. I guess there’s something, in the idea of being with another boy, that makes me feel safe.”

Minho stares at him and Chan doesn’t know how to interpret the look in his eyes. They go back to the game and Minho is a little more talkative. He wins. He tells Chan he will have to cook and then wash the dishes as well. Chan says he will without complaining, and then goes to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

“Do you want to watch the news?” Minho asks him when he comes back.

“Let’s watch the news,” Chan agrees, and so they sit on the couch and turn the tv on.

Late at night, Minho crawls into Chan’s bed again and, for the first time, he hugs him. Chan is sure he does it only because he thinks he is asleep. He is not, but he does not tell him. He just hugs him back and pulls him closer.

9.

It is a rainy morning, and it almost looks like the sunlight cannot make its way through the thick layer of clouds.

When Chan wakes up, he finds Minho still lying next to him, his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. He asks him if he is doing alright, and he answers that he is, but he is cold, and the weather is making it hard for him to find the will to get out of bed and do something. So Chan just suggests to laze around some more, and Minho gladly welcomes the suggestion.

They lie on their backs, as much as the mattress allows them to, side by side, talking slowly about whatever crosses their minds. They mostly comment on the latest news they have heard the evening before. Minho looks particularly pensive, and Chan nudges his arm under the duvet.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing much. I just generally feel like I’m not doing enough. For others, for the world… and this thought makes me feel restless. It’s like something is constantly burning inside of me and I can do little to nothing about it.”

“Well, it’s not like you can do more than that, right now, don’t you think?” Minho nods, but he does not look entirely convinced. Chan sighs. “Do what you can now, improve your means of action later. Change has to start somewhere.”

Minho hums and nods, and that little movement makes the smell of his hair reach Chan’s nose. He inhales it deeply.

“Do you think we can actually change the world?” Minho asks, and his voice makes Chan understand he is worried about not hearing the answer he would like to hear.

“I don’t know. Individual efforts might be useful, but I guess that the saying «the whole is greater than the sum of its parts» may be fitting in this case as well. Actual change needs collective action. Involvement, sharing, creating communities. Nothing we can really do right now, at least not physically.”

“But we have to start somewhere,” Minho whispers, his eyes somewhere else.

“Yes, we do. Becoming conscious of what needs to be fixed is a great way to start. Small, individual actions are good first steps, too. The rest will come along,” Chan nudges Minho’s arm again when he stays silent a little too long. “Is there something else that’s bothering you?”

“No, it’s just… lately I also often find myself wondering if life is really more valuable than ideas, or values.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, would I risk my life for an idea I strongly believe in?”

“And what do you tell yourself?” Chan turns his head and looks at Minho’s side profile. His face looks a little emotionless.

“That I don’t know. Maybe I would, but I’m not sure. A life lived only for oneself is wasted, and ideas are the only things that survive time, and our mortality. Still, can I say that my ideas are more valuable than my own existence?”

“But aren’t our existences nothing more than our ideas?”

“Don’t know,” Minho says sincerely and then, unexpectedly, he laughs. He turns his head and Chan looks at his eyes – his mouth is smiling, but they are not, not really. “Quarantine really puts you in a weird headspace, doesn’t it?”

Chan smiles and Minho blinks away whatever other thought is still lingering in his mind. He gets up soon after, and Chan follows suit. He goes on with his day without thinking much about the conversation they have had in bed. It comes to his mind again only when, in the late afternoon, the news talk about cases, deaths, possible antecedents, probable consequences, citing virologists, biologists, economists, climate change and social inequalities experts. He looks at Minho and his eyes, as always, are on the tv screen. He seems present, but also somewhere else at the same time. If he notices Chan staring, he does not let him know.

10.

Minho’s mood is quite unstable again. During breakfast, he tells Chan he is feeling a bit anxious, and he has a lot on his mind, and Chan understands it is better to leave him alone. He tells him he is right there, in case he needs someone to talk to, and Minho thanks him, but does not tell him a thing.

Chan has a lot on his mind too, but he also has a lot of things he needs to get done, so he turns his computer on and dives into work. Minho makes him lunch – he washes the dishes as well – and he sits next to him almost all day long. When he finishes reading his book, he works a bit himself, and Chan feels oddly proud he is not just lying in bed doing nothing.

They don’t talk at all, but the silence feels comfortable, and Chan finds himself thinking that spending the day like that is doing Minho good. He cooks dinner as well and Chan tells him he will take care of the dishes when he is done working.

Minho goes to bed soon after. Chan tells him to sleep well and, when he leaves, the silence feels a little less pleasant, and a little more heavy.

He works until late at night, and stops only when his brain begs him to. So he washes the dishes and only then goes to the bedroom. As expected, he finds Minho already asleep. He doesn’t wake him up and gets into his own bed. He notices that, after getting used to sleeping with Minho, it now feels too large. He can’t say he does not like it, but it feels strange. He scrolls on his phone and pushes the thought away.

It is only when Minho starts whining in his sleep that Chan is reminded of his presence again. He doesn’t pay much attention to it until something in the little sounds Minho is making grabs his attention. He asks himself if he is having a nightmare. He turns off his phone and listens, wondering if he has to wake him up.

He listens and listens and then, all of a sudden, realization hits him and he freezes. The sighs and whimpers, quiet and low, that are coming from Minho’s mouth make it clear that what he is seeing in his head is not frightening, not at all. Chan almost stops breathing, his eyes wide open in the dark, when he becomes fully aware of the fact that Minho is not having a nightmare.

He stays still, facing the wall, not knowing what to do. He feels as if he should not be witnessing what is happening to Minho. It feels too intimate, being there, hearing him like that, but he can’t bring himself to cover his ears with his pillow. He listens, because he just can’t help it. And he just can’t help but let his mind wander where it should not be wandering, focus on thoughts it should not be focusing on. His jaw clenches and his thighs twitch. He squeezes his eyes shut, he holds his breath and just waits until Minho doesn’t make a sound anymore.

When the room falls completely silent again, Chan opens his eyes. The sound of his heart pounding in his chest is the only thing he can hear and he knows he is not going to fall asleep soon. So he stares at the wall and tries to calm down, his senses too heightened for him to even think straight.

When dawn comes, he hears Minho move and understands he has woken up. He has the impression he is looking at him, and his body stiffens.

“Hyung?” Minho calls, his voice sleepy and hoarse. He sounds confused. Chan tells himself he must have forgotten he has fallen asleep alone in his own bed. He wonders if he has tried to stay awake to wait for him.

He stays still and does not say a thing. He strains his ear and listens to Minho’s movements. He seems to be moving slowly, but Chan soon feels him crawl into his bed, wrap his arm around him and bury his face between his shoulder blades. He can feel his breath seeping through his shirt and, from the way he is inhaling and exhaling, it seems like he is trying to calm himself down.

Chan’s eyes are still fixed on the wall, just a few inches from his face, and he tries his best not to roll over and kiss Minho hard. Because that’s all he has been able to think about from the moment he has heard him moan – kissing his lips, tasting his tongue, touching his body and making his legs tremble under his touch.

He manages to fall asleep only when, one hour later, Minho gets up and leaves the room.

11.

Minho does not talk, and Chan knows his anxiety is acting up. They haven’t talked much since the day Chan has heard his whines during the night: Chan has mostly worked and Minho, unaware of what happened, has mostly kept to himself.

Still, they are together most of the time. Even if he does not talk much, it looks like Minho is finding it more difficult, as the days go by, to spend time by himself. So he never leaves Chan alone, and Chan silently basks in his nearness.

In the rare moments in which they are not together, Chan also finds himself thinking about Minho a lot. When he least expects it, the sound of his voice echoes in his head, and he starts to think about the smell of his hair and the bags under his eyes when he spends too much time watching the news. And, one day, he realizes he kind of likes having his thoughts revolve around Minho, and his eyes full of his presence every time he lifts them from his computer screen. He does not know what that means, nor knows why Minho keeps so close to him. He decides he does not care, for he just likes it a lot.

It is late at night when Chan realizes Minho still has not gone to bed. He is sitting at the table, shaking his legs and watching the tv. It looks like he is not really paying attention to it, his eyes hollow and absent. Chan looks at him, trying to read his expression, and then just puts his computer aside, stands up and turns the tv off. Minho, suddenly awakened from his trance, looks at him wearing his coat, grabbing the keys of his car and then looking back at him.

“Put on your coat,” he says, and Minho gets on his feet, confused.

“You do know we’re still quarantined, don’t you?”

“I do. Come on. ”

And he goes out the door, and Minho can do nothing but grab his coat and follow him. As they ride the elevator, he does not really know what to do, nor what to say, so he just puts on his coat and waits in silence until they are out of the building.

The air is cold and misty, and it feels so unreal, being out at night again, that Chan’s stomach almost trembles out of excitement. He glances at Minho and he can almost see all of his concerns disappear from his face with every breath he takes.

He picks up his pace, Minho at his heels, and they soon reach the parking lot, and then Chan’s car. He opens it and beckons Minho to sit on the passenger seat. Once they are inside, he rolls down the windows, just enough to let the air of the night crawl inside the car, and turns on the headlights. And then he waits.

None of them makes a sound. No one is in sight and, for a moment, it almost feels like they are floating in the void, vacuum-sealed inside the car.

Minho turns to look at Chan, who briefly smiles at him before pointing a finger in front of them.

“What do you see?” he asks, and Minho looks ahead again, his eyes lost somewhere beyond the windshield.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? That’s weird… I see hedges and a road. And lampposts. I bet that without all of this light pollution, we would be able to see the stars as well.”

“Why do they keep the lampposts on? It’s not like people can go out anyway.”

“I don’t know,” Chan just says, and Minho looks at him once again.

“Why are we here, again?”

“Are you still feeling anxious?”

“I’m not,” Minho admits after a moment of silence.

“Well, that’s why we’re here.”

Chan smiles and Minho’s face definitively loses every trace of worry. They stay in the car and breathe in the smell of the night, basking in each other’s comforting presence, until it just becomes too cold, and Minho just becomes too sleepy and asks Chan if they can go back home.

They walk towards the building side by side, their arms slightly touching, exchanging a few words. When they step into the elevator and the doors close, the light flickers and Minho seems calm but, at the same time, he seems rather impatient. Chan is not sure why, so he nudges him.

“Hey. What are you thinking of?”

“Honestly? That I want to kiss you,” Minho just says, and it seems like it is hard, for him, to admit it. Yet, the words leave his mouth surprisingly easily.

Chan is startled but, somehow, he also is not. Minho is not looking at him. The doors open again and they walk down the corridor.

“Just do it, then,” Chan eventually says as he opens the door.

But he doesn’t wait for Minho to do something: he takes off his coat and runs inside the house, towards the bathroom, leaving Minho at the door, dumbfounded. He washes his teeth and his face, and then he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He feels sure. He knows he is.

He goes to the bedroom, gets in his bed and waits, listening to the sound of running water. When Minho arrives in the room everything is dark, but Chan feels like he can almost see him, through the muffled sounds of his movements, as he changes his clothes. He hears him come closer.

Minho gets into his bed and pulls the covers over their heads. He doesn’t say a thing. He just hugs him tight and kisses him hard and Chan can feel his heart beat in his ears.

12.

After a few days, they start making out regularly. They do it almost obsessively, compulsively. They make out on Chan’s bed, they make out on the couch and against the kitchen counter. They make out after breakfast and before going to sleep. They even make out while watching the news, the newscaster’s voice forgotten in the background.

Chan asks himself if they just do it out of boredom, or if they have actually started to like each other so much they can’t even keep their hands off each other. Making out surely is the most fun they can have while being trapped in their apartment. At the same time, Chan knows that even if he had the possibility to go outside and live his life normally, he would still rather stay inside and make out with Minho.

He has a feeling that it is the same for Minho as well, since he is the one who initiates most of their make-out sessions. When Chan less expects it, Minho is beside him, touching his leg or playing with his ear until he just gives up doing whatever he is doing and they start kissing. When they are eating, Minho looks at him lazily and plays footsie with him under the table until Chan forgets his food, drags his chair closer to him, grabs his face and kisses him until he gasps for air. Chan, instead, finds himself especially drawn to Minho when he wakes up from his afternoon naps and sees him sound asleep next to him, still sitting up, his chin almost touching his chest. Chan looks at him lengthily and then turns the tv off, wakes him up, touches his body and kisses his sleepy pout away.

One night, Chan is already drifting off when Minho clings to his shirt and starts kissing his jaw. He does it slackly, as if he is not really sure he has enough energy to make out some more when they have spent the whole day doing nothing but kissing and touching. But he seems to get his strength back soon, as he presses his body harder against Chan’s, and his kisses become warmer and resolute. Chan furrows his brows, his eyes still closed, and heaves a sigh when Minho grows impatient and tugs on his shirt.

“Again?” he only manages to ask as he turns his head.

“Again.”

Chan sighs once more, but rolls on his side, grabs Minho’s waist and lets him kiss him. He can still taste toothpaste in his mouth. He is feeling hot, way too hot, but he pulls him closer all the same.

“My lips hurt,” he mumbles.

“Mine do too,” Minho says back. But, unbothered, he keeps kissing Chan hard.

And Chan just lets him. Because it feels right, and it feels good. Because the thought of being desired that much stuns him, and the thought of being able to please someone else – to please Minho – makes him feel like he is doing something right.

And he lets him until he is in pain. It is just what happens after making out over and over, almost uncontrollably. After getting continuously turned on without doing anything about it.

They still have not talked about how far they want to go. Chan knows they have already crossed the thin line that separates friendship from being more than friends, but he thinks they need to address the elephant in the room before doing something other than making out, before doing something that could really change everything for good.

“Minho, please, my… it hurts,” he says when he cannot take it anymore.

Minho says nothing but seems to understand: he gives him one last kiss and then pulls back. And Chan really hates having to let go of his warmness, and he would really rather have Minho’s body still pressed against his. But he knows he simply could not bear it.

He asks himself if Minho is in pain as well. He seems to get turned on faster and more often, but he endures everything that comes with it better.

Minho falls asleep fast. Chan listens to him breathe, buries his face in the pillow and tries not to think about how close their bodies still are.

13.

It is a quiet day and, since morning, the house is filled with a comforting silence. Even the newscaster seems to be talking slower, quieter. The electronics and the electrical appliances in the house make milder sounds, and the walls seem to filter the sounds coming from the other apartments better. Even when, after dinner, Chan and Minho get in bed and end up kissing the evening away, the entire house seems to be holding its breath.

Minho’s body is warm, incredibly warm, and Chan holds onto it for dear life. The way Minho has completely abandoned himself in his arms makes him suddenly think about the future. And the uncertainty that comes with the thought of the days to come gives him the courage to break out of the bubble of physical intimacy and unsaid things they have hidden themselves into.

“Why are we doing this?” he asks, and Minho opens his eyes. He looks a bit sleepy.

“Doing what?”

“Always making out.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“I do, don’t get me wrong, but… does it mean something? Like, actually mean something to you?”

“Does it to you?”

“I asked first.”

Minho stays silent and his eyes are still, but Chan can just tell that, behind them, his thoughts are spinning and spinning. He is trying to find a way to avoid an awareness he is not ready to fully put up with. He clearly does not find it. He sighs. He grabs Chan’s shirt and slightly pulls it.

“If you’re afraid it’s something I want to do as a way to manage my anxiety, or my mood swings… it’s not. I don’t really like to say this out loud, but it means something to me. It really does.”

“Ok, good. It does to me as well.”

Minho nods and then rolls onto his back. Now that what he was worried to admit has come to light, he is already thinking about something else, Chan can easily tell. He looks at Minho’s side profile, at his nose pointing towards the ceiling, and waits for him to say what is on his mind.

“Aren’t you more aware of how everything is connected, after we all got quarantined?” Minho suddenly asks. Chan gives him some more time to put his thoughts into words. “What we choose to eat, what we choose to buy, who we affiliate with, the fights we choose to fight, social injustice, exploitation, illnesses, natural disasters. You can’t take a single step without having an impact on the world. You can’t make choices that are not, ultimately, socio-political.”

“That’s true,” Chan says. He thinks about what Minho has said some more. “Doesn’t this make you feel powerful? Like you, with others, can actually make a difference?”

“It does, but it also does not. In one of the books I’ve read these days, the author wrote we live in a state of collective depression we can overcome only through regaining a long-lost consciousness, through action and collective action. Exactly what you were saying a couple of weeks ago. Something difficult to process and put into practice as a community, as a class. As a society.”

“Difficult, but not impossible. We do have ideas, remember? Ideas and ideologies. And ideas are what makes the world move, and the world change, when followed by actions,” Chan says, and Minho turns his head to look at him. He smiles, and the way his smile makes him suddenly look so youthful, and so, so pretty, makes Chan feel the urge to smile right back.

“I guess I’m just fucking afraid.”

“Who isn’t?”

“Are you?”

“More often than not.”

Minho stares at Chan as if he is trying to understand whether he is lying or not. He decides he is not, and he looks relieved. He closes his eyes again, and it looks like a way to keep his thoughts trapped in his head.

“I feel safe, here,” he whispers in a deep breath, and rolls right back in Chan’s arms, and Chan knows that that is where their conversation ends. They will have the chance to talk about everything else in the days to come as well.

Time goes on slowly, as it always does in the night. They hug and kiss and Minho asks Chan if they can make love, and so they do. When Minho falls asleep, Chan wraps his arms around his body and pulls him closer. With his nose in his hair and his hands pressed on his skin, he asks himself if two young adults finding solace in each other, a deeper kind of companionship, could be something bound to have an impact on the world as well. He tells himself it has to be. He tells himself it is.

14.

When some of the restrictions get lifted, Minho finally has a date to look forward to, and he can finally start counting down the days until he gets to see his parents and his cats again. Chan cannot do the same but, at least, he can be happy for Minho. He smiles when, right after the newscaster’s announcement, Minho hops off the couch and runs to the bedroom to call his mother. When he catches himself smiling, Minho’s voice reaching his ears and a pretty kind of affection filling his stomach, he tells himself things are going to be just fine.

They really are going to, he thinks every time he sees Minho become more relaxed as the days go by. It seems that, even though he still has a lot to think about – the new conditions every human being has to adapt to, the uncertainness that comes with the future, the need of personal and collective action –, he thinks about everything with a lighter heart, and a clearer mind. It might be because of the prospect of spring finally unfolding, of the sky becoming gradually bluer, and brighter. Or, maybe, it might be because of the thin excitement, thinner than the slightest breezes of spring, that comes with the thought of the things to come, in a world that, despite being different, is somehow still the same. That same excitement that comes with new beginnings, timid expectations and the awareness of how history flows through people and renders everyone accountable for their choices and actions. Or, Chan likes to think at times, it might just be because Minho now knows that he will not have to face all of those things alone. That however harsh the world might become, whatever choices he will have to make, he will have, on his side and by his side, someone who looks out for his every step.

They kiss and make love and spend the days filling up on that little feeling that is growing, just like blades of grass towards the light, inside those white walls. Everyday life is quiet and calm and the start of something new or, at least, of something different, really seems to be on the horizon. For now, however, the routines they have naturally fallen into make Chan feel content with what they have, with what they are, in the present moment.

He is sure Minho feels rather serene as well. He cooks something new every day and often pushes his feigned aloofness aside to hug Chan when he is washing the dishes and cannot see Minho coming to him from behind. They play card games when they get bored, or when they feel just too tired to make out and, whenever Minho wins, he still tells Chan he has to do the most creative things. And Chan still complies every time, because that is just the way he is, and because he just likes giving in to Minho’s every whim. During late evenings, when they are done with their days, the voices of the newscasters they have learned to know so well still fill the silence of the house. Minho has started to curse at the tv once again, but he does it more lightheartedly, his anger always present but well concealed. And Chan laughs at him every time, and always ends up thinking that Minho really is someone who cares about things a whole lot.

The nights spent together in Chan’s bed are still the best part, even when it is too hot, even when it feels too cramped, even when Chan snores and Minho talks in his sleep. They hug, their limbs inevitably tangled, and it really is enough for them to be happy.

“What’s the first thing you’ll do once we get to go outside?” Minho asks Chan one night, right before he falls asleep.

“Me?” Chan opens one eye and thinks lengthily. “Go to the nearest park, I guess. Sit on a bench and stare at the sun.”

“Poetic. I think I’ll just go out and drink the day away,” Minho mumbles, sleep already taking a toll on him, and Chan laughs.

“Saving the world can wait until you sober up, after all.”

“Indeed.”

They fall silent and Chan cannot stop smiling to himself as Minho falls asleep in his arms.

Being young really is challenging. It is, as well, thrilling. And even if they are not sure they can actually change the world, they can, at least, try. Be conscious, stand against all kinds of injustice. Protect the earth. Love their neighbors, and fight them if they are unkind.

If life has a meaning, Chan tells himself as he holds Minho tighter, it has to be growing a good heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this story ♥ I’m really curious to know what you think about it.  
> I’m a slow writer, and life is kind of shitty right now, but I’m working on another idea, so I really hope I’ll see you all again soon! Please stay safe ♥


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